Bleeding Gently
by JohnsJumperedJamMaker
Summary: John and Sherlock are together, they have been for about a year now and things couldn't be going better. Until the death of John's dad occurs and things start to go downhill when John does what he can to keep his family together. Teenlock. Sherlock/John. Sherlock/Victor. Johnlock. Rated for adult themes. (May be some triggers ):)


**Hello! So I haven't written in a while but this idea has been forming in my mind for a good while now so I'm back in business. THIS IS TEENLOCK! John and Sherlock are both 16. The italic is a glimpse into the future...I'll leave you guessing. Please enjoy! And pleasepleaseplease leave me a review!**

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((Sherlock and John are 16. TEENLOCK))

John shifted his weight between his feet as he waited for an answer to the door, rain lashing against his body as he tugged his jacket as close as possible. It hadn't hit him yet. The words still seemed numb in his ears but he had ran, just ran because he didn't know what else he could do.

He knew before they'd been told that it must have happened, he had been pulled from school, taken to the hospital. As soon as he had seen Harry and his mother standing together, hugging, his mother's hands shaking. He knew. But he hadn't cried, not there. He had ran. Ran to the only place he could go. The black door was pulled open and Sherlock frowned in confusion to see his boyfriend standing there in the pouring rain.

"John? What's wrong?" He asked, seeing the stress etched in Johns face and the start of tears beginning to cling to his eye lashes. John simply stared at him for a moment, his lips parting and closing as he tried to word it. The words formed in his head 'my dad, he's dead' then it hit him, and it hit hard.

He broke down and suddenly his legs wouldn't support him as he fell into Sherlock's arms. Sobs racked through his body. He clung on weakly, his nose pressed into Sherlock's chest and his eyes screwed shut with tears falling from their crinkled corners.

"It-it's dad," he whimpered, shaking his head as his throat closed up with tears, his chest aching. Sherlock froze as John collapsed into him but caught him instantly, automatically bringing the shorter boy into his arms and closing the door behind him, ignoring the rain seeping through his shirt from John's wet clothes as he rubbed John's back with one hand. He held the blonde's head to his chest with the other. His dad. Of course. Sherlock had known John's father didn't have long left, he had fought as hard as he could but cancer is a terrible thing.

John wept but couldn't say any more, shaking as his tears turned into silent shudders. He had gone in his sleep, the way everyone had wanted him too. The doctors had told them that he wasn't in pain, the medication had proved to do its job; Even if It stole their last days together away in a mess of sleep and confusion.

John was going to try to be strong for his family, but as soon as it was said in words he couldn't any more. The pain was overwhelming and it weighed him down like and anchor, his throat seizing up and his chest aching with the want to see him again. To hear his laugh or shout, hear him tell him off for leaving his room a mess. He loved his dad and he had been snatched away before his time, before John could say goodbye properly.

Sherlock slowly brought John into the house, setting him down on his sofa as he cried gently in his arms. He didn't say anything because that's not what John needed then, he needed the comfort, the love from him but most of all he needed not to have to be strong, he needed someone to look after him. Sherlock made sure he was sitting before he left, running upstairs to grab a jumper John had left there from earlier that month and a pair of trousers before returning. John looked up at him and met his grey-blue eyes, his own filled with grief.

"I-I'm s-sorry-" he stuttered, shivering and looking up in pain, his eyes following Sherlock. Sherlock shushed him.

"Shh now John, it's okay," he said softly, cupping the shorter boys cheek gently. John broke again at that and his head lowered to Sherlock's chest, who's hand simply adjusted round to the back of it.  
Eventually John fell into a sleep, after hours of crying in Sherlock's arms. Sherlock lifted John's head from his chest and laid him back on the sofa as gently as he could, feeling his own throat tight seeing the grief John was enduring.

He moved his hands down to undo the buttons of John's shirt, slipping it off of his shoulders and putting the wet garment aside, lifting John's back a little and pulling the dry jumper over his head. John merely grumbled at the disturbance and Sherlock observed his expression. He had always looked so peaceful when he slept, so innocent. Once he was done putting the new clothes on John, Sherlock laid him back and got a blanket, lying down next to him on the large sofa and cradling the shorter boy in his arms, kissing the top of his head. It was going to be a rough few months but no matter what happened John would have Sherlock to look after him. Always.

***

The morning was soon upon the two teenagers and sunlight leaked through the edges of the curtains, casting dancing beams of light over the living room floor. Sherlock was broken from his thoughts as John shifted in his sleep and a hand came to rest on his chest.

"John," he said gently, kissing the boys hair. John roused and blinked his eyes open, sniffling as he looked up at Sherlock.

"Not a dream then?" He asked, his voice hoarse and rough from both sleep and last night's crying. Sherlock smiled a little and shook his head.

"Don't apologise," he said before John even had the chance, "We can get some breakfast and go out for a while, you can stay here as long as you like but your mother and sister-"

John nodded, understanding.

"Thank you," he replied, pressing a soft kiss to Sherlock's lips. Sherlock paused for a moment, still not used to them, before closing his eyes and returning it for a few short moments.

"You were soaked so I got you some dry clothes," he said after breaking the kiss, his hand falling from John's cheek. He stood and helped John up as the blonde blinked at his change of clothes. Now that he had cried and rid himself of the raging emotions, he was left with a dull ache. Like an emptiness in his chest, it didn't hurt but he knew something was missing. Sherlock strode into the kitchen, his muscles already stretched even after having been lain in the same position for hours.

John soon followed him, feeling stiff and sore from his night on the sofa and lowering himself into one of the chairs, though he couldn't help but smile as Sherlock attempted to make him breakfast. He knew the boy had never cooked in his life yet he still tried, for him.

"Sherlock," John spoke up, standing and slipping his arms around Sherlock's waist, kissing his cheek and taking a moment to reassure himself that he had Sherlock. That they had each other. Sherlock paused but simply smiled, chuckling at the brown horror in the pan, meant to be a pancake.

"I love you John," he said softly. John smiled and closed his eyes, resting his head on Sherlock's back.

"I love you too. Always," he replied.

***

_John hid his face as he walked along the corridors, ignoring the whisperers. He could catch his name in nearly every conversation if he really listened, which is why he tried not to. He felt his throat tight but he held onto the strap of his school bag until his knuckles turned white. Sherlock would be waiting for him behind the building, then it would be okay._

John started jogging and got out of the damn school, walking along the field and trying to ignore the rub of material against the red and sore skin of his wrists. He glanced up to see where he was walking and just then his eyes caught onto something, a mass of dark curls which could only be Sherlock's. He froze and parted his lips to shout out when he heard another voice.

He edged forward and his behind the wall a little so he could still see Sherlock and...And Victor? Victor Trevor? How strange, Sherlock had told John he didn't like that boy. He was a year or so older than them too. The boy was built strong, taller than Sherlock even if only by a few inches. He wore his light brown hair short and stylishly. John watched with a frown as he reached out for Sherlock, wrapping an arm around his boyfriend. John clenched his fists and went to rush forward as Sherlock pushed him awa-what? John froze in his actions as Sherlock, after a pause, stepped forward and kissed the boy...no. No.

***

It was raining, again. It always seems to rain on days like these, doesn't it? It's what you see in the movies, John thought absently. His hand was warm with the presence of Sherlock's but he couldn't feel anything else, not the water dripping down his face (Or tears?), he couldn't hear his mother talking about how wonderful a man his father was, nor his sister crying beside him.

She was trying to disguise it but it was plain to see, for anyone who was looking. John wasn't. He was staring at the flowers bunched atop of the wooden coffin, thinking about how much his father would have hated them.

The funeral was small, they didn't have any close family apart from the three of them and a few friends of his father showed up. They had each other, who else did they need? They were the people important in his fathers life, no one else should be here. Yet John was standing under a black umbrella, being held by Sherlock, who's arm was around him because his legs felt weak. John would never admit to the night he cried to Sherlock, never admit how much it hurt. He was like that after all, but Sherlock knew and he knew Sherlock knew. That's all John needed. Sherlock understood but didn't express it vocally, he just held him.

Johns breathing was a little staggered as the first handful of dirt was thrown on top of the coffin and he fell into Sherlock a little, his hand tightening in the boys coat and shaking as he stared at the wooden box, his lips parting to gasp in small puffs of air. Sherlock held onto him, an arm around the smaller boy, gently supporting him.

The funeral was over far too quickly, it was a final goodbye. John went back to Sherlock's house. He couldn't go home right now, not now. When they were in the door Sherlock turned to John and sighed.

"Are you alright?" he asked, removing his coat and hanging it up. John stared at the ground with unseeing eyes as he removed his coat. Sherlock's parents were always out; his father was in the army, away all the time and his mother...John was never really sure about her. He knew she didn't ever seem to be around though.

"I'm fine," John said mechanically, hanging up his coat and taking off his shoes, resorting back to instincts to do so. However he looked up at Sherlock afterwards, a rush of emotion filled him. John had a problem. He didn't know what to do with grief, it turned into anger and he didn't know how to stop that.

He stepped forward and before Sherlock could question him he moved his hand up into the mess of curls atop the boys head, tightening his fingers in them and pulling his head down into a harsh kiss. Their teeth got in the way due to the roughness but John took control, forcing Sherlock back into a wall and nipping his bottom lip. His tongue snaking through into Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock didn't have much of a choice but to let John continue, his hands finding John's back and hair as he pulled him closer, a soft moan escaping him. John growled at the beginning of a protest which left Sherlock's lips as he invaded his mouth. His knee slipped between Sherlocks legs and his hand tugged sharply, leaving Sherlock to whimper. When John did pull back his eyes were dark and Sherlock's lips bruised as he stared at the blond. Eyes submissive.

"We're going to your room," John ordered, something dark in his tone as he did so. Sherlock stared at him, his breath suddenly gone, along with any words he had planned to say as he obeyed, nearly tripping over in his haste to get upstairs. John practically threw Sherlock onto the bed, straddling his waist as instantly their lips were smashed together again. Sherlock was already panting for John and his hips tilted upwards ever so slightly. John was breathing heavily now too, his trousers becoming tight around his crotch.

"I want you Sherlock," he purred, dropping down to lick under Sherlock's ear before biting the shell of it, his hips rolling against the brunettes. Sherlock groaned and threw his head back, hips lifting instantly in reply, seeking more contact.

"P-please," he begged. John didn't know what he was doing but something had overcome him, and he wouldn't stop. Sherlock was his love and his distraction. His fingers trailed down over Sherlock's chest popping open buttons on their way as his lips travelled down his porcelain neck. Sherlock was panting and groaning as John kissed his skin, his hips twitching anxiously. He didn't even feel his clothes being removed but was suddenly over come with pleasure as John took his length in his hand, stroking upwards firmly. Sherlock cried out, hands grasping desperately at the sheets.

"O-oh god John more," he pleaded, his hips soon falling into a rhythm with John's hand until stars burst across his closed eyes and his lips parted to shout incoherent grunts. His body went rigid and his back lifted off of the bed. Then he fell back down. Unable to move an inch as after shocks rippled through his sweaty body.

John gazed down at Sherlock with pleasure hooded eyes, wanting desperately to reach down and paw at himself as Sherlock lay still. He knelt back and pulled open his belt, tu- a warm hand on his wrist stopped him and John found himself lying on his back on the bed, a warm weight sitting on his legs.

"Sh-Sherlock," he whimpered, shuddering. Sherlock smirked and snaked his hands under John's trousers, rubbing him whilst leaning down to kiss his neck. As John's groaning turned frantic and his hips arched helplessly Sherlock finally tugged away John's trousers and stroked him properly. Just as he felt John about to tip over the edge he leaned down, mouth by the shorter boys ear and whispered.

"I love you," he said with one last flick of his wrist before John shouted and came, eventually falling back into the bed, panting for air with his eyes shut, his body felt heavy.

Sherlock crawled into bed next to him and pulled the sheets over their naked bodies, snuggling close to John. John turned when he found some strength and brought Sherlock into his arms. His nose nuzzled into Sherlock's hair.

"I love you too," John whispered before they both fell asleep, curled around each other and safe. Together they would always be safe. But sometimes things change, all hearts are broken.

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**Thank you for reading all you lovely people! So if you didn't pick up on the foreshadowing; Things will be getting bad from here on out. The next chapter should be posted in a week, definitely up in two. Please Review, it helps me so much. Leave comments, criticism, anything you'd like to see from my writing and I'll get back to you!**


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